


The Lonesome Tale of Squiddy

by adotsal



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Catheters, Come-Stuffing, Consensual Drowning, Enemas, HYDRA Trash Party, Okay so imagine an orifice: now imagine a tentacle inside it, Other, Oviposition, Shame Boners feat. Bucky Barnes, Sounding, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles, anal insertion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 23:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adotsal/pseuds/adotsal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a HTP kinkmeme prompt calling for more tentacle rape. </p><p>(What it says on the tin.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lonesome Tale of Squiddy

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt: ](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1634.html?thread=3011938#cmt3011938)
> 
> "Hydra's logo is literally a bunch of tentacles, why wouldn't they have a many-tendriled companion.
> 
> This could mean anything really, and I won't object to anything at all around a tentacle premise.
> 
> One idea that's been bouncing around in my head is where the monster (let's say Squiddy) is used in the breaking process for the Winter Soldier. For example maybe he's beaten and fucked for hours or days nonstop until he can't even keep himself conscious anymore as torture and/or punishment until he'll do anything to not have to be stuck with Squiddy again.
> 
> Or conversely maybe Squiddy has super slime that acts as a drug and leaves the Soldier loose and compliant and happy. It's some sort of paradoxical reward/punishment that leaves him so much easier to manage when he acts up. Hell, maybe it's addictive.
> 
> Maybe post-recovery, Steve gets captured and introduced to Squiddy.
> 
> Maybe it's a rite of passage for new hydra recruits.
> 
> I just need me some hot tentacle rape.
> 
> Bonus points if it's a literal hydra and if you tear or bite off a tentacle, two more literally grow back to take it's place."
> 
> Largely unedited and completely unbeta-ed. Sorry! :D

When all is said and done, Bucky is surprisingly open about his time as the Winter Soldier. Sometimes he's a bit too open - confrontational almost. He'll tell Steve how he murdered a little girl in Zagreb in the sixties in excruciating detail, square his jaw like he wants Steve to tell him he's a piece of shit for having the gall to be a victim of decades of brainwashing and torture. Steve tries his hardest to keep a neutral expression, because how he feels doesn't really matter - showing Bucky that is more important than telling Bucky it's not his fault for the umpteenth time. 

Even if Steve Rogers is made of nine parts combative nature to one part understanding and it grates on his very nature not to turn it into an argument.

Probably because Bucky doesn't hate himself as much for it, talking about being tortured never seems to lead to such tension. Bucky will casually tell him about being made to hold capsaicin-doctored enemas for hours on some low level tech's whim, or how he'd had his lips sewn shut by a field agent with a sick sense of humor before a long night in a sniper's nest. Sitting calmly during transport while someone slowly burned patterns into his skin with a cigar. Steve never knows quite what response Bucky is looking for, but he listens. He can do that much, at least.

But no matter how free Bucky is with his past, he gets close-lipped about one thing.

‘Squiddy’.

Steve would never have known about Squiddy if Bucky hadn't accidentally let it slip a few times - whimpered it in his sleep once, and during a panic attack twice.

“Not Squiddy - I haven’t -“

Steve is just - he's fucking BURSTING with the desire to pry. But he tries to be good. To only make the inquiry once, "who is Squiddy?" 

The look of terror that flashes on Bucky's face before he turns stonefaced and brushes Steve off is enough to make him stop asking questions.

Later, Bucky would wish he'd just fucking told him.

But in the moment, Steve just feels good about holding back on his curiosity, feels like he is being respectful of Bucky's boundaries. Sam encourages good communication skills, even if he's the kind of enabler who goes on world tours looking for international war criminals to give them a place to crash.

-

Since Bucky's reunion with Steve, they've been taking out more and more Hydra bases. Bucky has a long memory for certain things, and geographical coordinates is thankfully one of them. Or, at least enough information and background data to figure out said coordinates.

Together with Sam and sometimes Natasha (and even more occasionally Clint), they've been able to take down these places with ease. More Hydra bases means more data means more bases and sometimes Steve wonders if there really isn't an end, if the Hydra motto isn't really true.

-

They're in an underground bunker in the North of the Netherlands when it happens. It's just the two of them; Sam and Natasha are just outside of Auckland taking care of an outdated Hydra relay station. 

(Sam sent Steve a picture of Natasha looking unimpressed with sheep earlier today. It made Steve smile. Bucky has learned to adore what Sam and Natasha do for Steve's general disposition, even if it kills him that Steve only ever gives him weak, sad little smiles or stressed out frowns.)

Walking down a long hall, Bucky stops at a knee knocker doorway and feels sweat suddenly prickling along his neck and forehead, hairs raising and pores stinging. He knows with a sudden, dizzying intensity that this is wrong. Where the fuck are the Hydra agents?

He follows Steve with a knot in his throat so huge he can't talk through it. He feels like he's in a dream, or like when he sometimes wakes up unable to move - every muscle straining in pain but unable to transfer that strain into movement. Sleep paralysis, Sam calls it. 

He follows Steve to a closed knee knocker doorway, he doesn't say anything when Steve opens the door and peers into the dark stairwell that descends in front of them. Steve makes some quip Bucky doesn’t have the focus to parse and _he doesn't say anything_ as they turn on their flashlights and descend. He knows, he knows he has to do something, but he can’t, he can't -

He doesn't say anything when they step down out of the stairway into a cavernous room, a foot deep of water with a deeper pool in the center. He says nothing as Steve makes irritated noises about his waterlogged boots. He says nothing as Steve fumbles and drops his flashlight, as several lights around the walls of the room flicker to life, revealing a large circular room with metal plate walls. The cloying smell of rust makes Bucky want to choke, to cry. Sweat prickles, Steve noticed his wide eyes and turns to him.

He thinks, 'don't you realize you should run?' but Steve just stands there looking stressed and sad and frowning and _asking Bucky what's wrong, the fucking moron -_

A dark tendril snakes out of the pool along the shallows towards them. Bucky still isn't speaking, just standing there and hyper-ventilating. He feels frozen, outside of the moment, and he doesn't fucking say anything - not when more of the tendrils slide silken out of the deep pool in the center of the room and grab onto Steve's ankles. They lift him several feet into the air, where he swings wildly and cusses like a sailor.

Bucky chokes on air and manages to get out, "don't fight, Squiddy's Hydra - cut off one and -" and then his feet are out from under him and he's in the air, too. He keeps screaming "stop", but Steve WONT, he just struggles harder and there are tentacles around Steve's wrists now. Steve fights and Bucky can't stop him. More than the tentacles winding firmly up his legs, that's what makes him feel helpless.

Squiddy must be tired of him screaming, because a tentacle is slipping into his mouth. With shifting muscular movements, the slimy appendage slips down his throat, leaving him barely able to breath between its tentative retreats and prodding forays forward. The taste of brine fills his mouth. He goes limp.

Steve rather empathically does not. 

Bucky lets his body relax and barely notices when his clothes are torn off by strong tendrils, barely registers the way the tentacles coil thick and strong around his entire body, lifting him and tilting him nauseatingly. Steve thrashes and fights against the same treatment, upside down and still fighting like a rabid dog. Bucky watches with wide eyes as the tendrils clamp down hard over his flailing form, watches the way Steve's blood pools in his limbs past the tight tendrils. Bucky's just thankful he's able to face the right direction - being able to see Steve alive is better than wondering. 

Even if things aren't going to get better. 

The tentacles shift Steve this way and that, spreading his legs wide and bending them down to his chest so his asshole is incidentally on display towards Bucky, even as Bucky can see his reddened face still scowling and twisting below it.

The feeling of something slim and slick slipping into his own ass barely registers for Bucky except as a reminder to bare down to ease the entry. Steve squawks indignantly around the tentacle coiled sideways across his mouth as Bucky gets a front row seat to the sight of a tentacle breaching his ass. It's - wow. 

He's a little ashamed of how that makes him hot, his dick taking interest even while he’s dangling sideways with tentacles in two orifices and counting. One tentacle notices his interest and begins to coil around his cock.

His guilty interest in the tableau of America's Hero getting probed by a marine creature is cut short by panic when Steve tears his right arm free and reached above him to grab the thin tentacle in his ass and rip nearly three feet of the tip off. His arm is quickly restrained by several more tentacles and wrenched out beside him, both arms stretching taught to either side of his bent in form, causing him to whimper around the tentacle across his mouth. 

From out of the torn limb extends two more, of similar size, and without hesitation they ram themselves back into Steve’s asshole, stretching it out about two inches in diameter. Steve lets out a muffled yelp and Bucky feels himself tense around the tentative tentacles in his ass and mouth, causing them to jam themselves in further unhappily. Taking the hint, he tries to relax. 

Bloody slime slip down Steve’s ass and balls from the tentacles sliding further down into Steve. Bucky tries not to gag around the tentacle and the worry lodged in his throat.

Steve, meanwhile, would really love to bite down right now. Too bad his jaw is almost dislocated with how far it's stretched open. The more he struggles, the more the tentacles tighten with bruising force around him. He can barely see with all the tentacles around him, coming from seemingly every direction, it makes him feel insane that he can’t completely tell what’s happening to him.

It's not like Steve's never had something up his ass - here's a sickly kid from the renaissance of medical rectal dilators and enema injections 'for your health'. Plus, it wasn't like being a science experiment had exempted him from invasive medical personnel. But the widest thing he's ever had in his ass was maybe a couple fingers, and that was with some preparation. Only adrenaline, anger, and an unusually high tolerance for pain is keeping him from crying over the stinging pain radiating from the intrusion. The uncomfortable feeling deep in his rectum tells him the tentacle has reached a bend. The squirming thing prods at it, and it feels like they're pressing against a deeper entrance. He hopes like hell it stops there, even as he feels something start to squirm through. It feels wrong - the cramping, invasive feeling of an internal closure being pried open. 

As Steve futilely attempts to struggle, he feels a tentacle wrapping itself around his soft dick, lifting it. The humiliation is compounded by the offhand thought that this is the first living creature beside his mother or a medical professional to touch his genitals. 

With his head held so stiffly by the tendrils across his mouth and neck, he can't look towards himself to see, but - there's something thin feeling underneath his foreskin. Wet and cool - his dick would love to retract, but with the writhing of the tentacle around it, it's involuntarily starting to extend. The tendril in his foreskin slowly slips around his entire cockhead, leaving him whimpering unconsciously.

There's a long moment where there's just the horrible painful stretch of his ass around the cold squirming mess that somehow got thicker after he ripped it out, and the gentle prodding and stroking of his cock. And then there's the stretch of his cockhole as the thin tendril enters his slit. He actually chokes on a hitched half breath, and the tendril over his mouth takes that moment to slip away and allow another to dive tip first down his throat.

Steve's too panicked about not being able to breath to do anything but flail uselessly and feel his organs clench around the tentacles. The burning stretch in his urethra descends further, then hooks up and painfully past some stopping point into his bladder. 

The ghosts of catheters past are the only reason he's not choking on his own vomit around the tentacle down his throat.

Then, there's a feeling like he's being filled with ice, each of the tentacles in him pulsating thickly inside him. Steve panics, bites down on the tendril in his mouth, and almost swallows the severed tentacle. He chokes, trying desperately to expunge the tentacle as snot and tears run up his face into his hairline. The tentacle he bit flails for a moment, black ichor trailing down from its stump, before two new tentacles emerge from it. 

Oh. 

Fuck.

That's what Buck had tried to tell him.

The severed tentacle in his mouth comes slipping out along with a rush of cool, watery liquid - slipping into his nose and eyes and stinging. The now double ended tentacle dives back into his mouth just as he manages to get a breath.

Bucky idly notices his cock get filled and his body beginning to receive the cool liquid from Squiddy, but his attention is so captivated by the sight of Steve's ill advised actions that he's able to avoid his automatic kneejerk reaction to any sensation that reminds him of cryo. It's a blessing and a curse. If he could just let himself drift off from the sensations, maybe let himself go unconscious, he wouldn't have to be cognizant of what was about to happen. With Steve there, there's no way to check out. He just - he can't do that to him, to either of them. He's half certain Steve is going to get himself killed, and he feels oddly obligated to watch - even if he can't do anything. Maybe he could get out a garbled command to relax and stop fighting if it gets too bad. He could bite down on Squiddy like Steve did, buy himself a couple seconds to tell him to just stop.

Still, Bucky's never had such gentle treatment from Squiddy, nor someone else to keep him distracted from his own situation. 

…Guiltily, he's grateful that Steve is here.

He watches as Steve is filled up with the liquid, feels his own organs swell and churn nauseatingly, and then the tentacles in their mouthes and cocks are retreating. Steve and him both immediately begin vomiting out the fluid, their dicks already leaking out a combination of piss and tentacle fluid - into his face, in Steve's unfortunately positioned case - and once they can gasp for breath again they're lifted out of their upside down and sideways positions and held in the air with their legs bent up to their chests.

The fluid inside his guts rolls queasily, and Bucky is glad this part's almost over - but Steve looks like he's about to do something stupid again. Bucky dribbles out some stomach acid and tentacle fluid mixture down his chin and tries to get his tongue to work.

"Don't worry, it'll let it out soon," he tries to assure, but his voice is ragged from being throat fucked fairly recently by a marine animal.

"It's almost over?" Steve asks, and Bucky can tell that he's trying not to sound weak. Trying to sound tough. But it really isn't working, and he hates to have to share this news.

"Pal, it hasn't started," he tries to say as gently as he can.

Steve's face looks stricken for a moment, before he looks determined. Bucky gets a bad feeling about it.

"Shit, don't -" A different sort of tentacle slips into both their mouthes, this time with bumps and ridges Bucky feels scrape alarmingly on the way down. Every couple seconds it squeezes itself to the side enough that he can snort in a thin breath. 

A moment later the pressure in Bucky's guts reaches its apex, and the tentacles in their asses slip out as they release the wash of fluid and otherwise out into the pool below. 

Steve quivering in relief and basically shitting out the excretions of a giant nazi water rapist is far hotter than it has any right to be, considering Bucky knows how unpleasant this whole fucking thing is. Knows it like he knows Steve's dumb fucking face - deeply, dream-hauntingly, and almost completely unremovable via memory wipe. 

The tentacles slip back inside, jettisoning one harsh blast of ice cold up their rectums - causing Steve to wince - before letting them drain once more.

And then it actually starts. 

The tentacles in their throats begin to pulsate, depositing freezing cold into their stomachs. Colder than the flushing fluid, and less sloshing. More viscous. It sticks thickly on its way down. Bucky isn't sure if this is memory or sensation at this point.

A thick, bumpy tentacle - this one with a less tapered tip than the flushing tentacles - nudges up against Bucky's hole and he bears down on it to help it in. The bumps popping over his prostate as they pass are almost too much sensation, but he's surprised by his own lack of terrified anticipation. He wonders if it’s shock or if being more cognizant of the situation than the Winter Soldier had been is actually helping.

But Steve fucking struggles and tries to flinch away, gagging and gasping around the tentacle down his throat, tears running down his scowling face. Crunched up like Steve is, Bucky is able to see pretty damn well as the tentacle forces its way inside him, each bump catching on Steve's wrecked rim.

Bucky is almost too busy having guilty, dirty thoughts about Steve's failed attempts to not make noise or quiver - he almost doesn't notice the tentacle snaking into his dick and sliding past his prostate and further. Almost. 

(He's honestly starting to suspect that being aroused is actually doing him a favor and helping him from feeling over stimulated. He feels guilty/glad for Steve's presence, once more.)

Steve feels like he's never been so split open - not on a lab table, not in a hospital, not even in a warzone. Everything feels so sensitive - just the feeling of the bumps and ridges slipping past into his sigmoid colon is so grotesquely intimate he feels like he could hurl, but the way the squirming tentacle is pressing obscenely on his prostate, the way his growing erection slides over yet another bump of the tentacle inside his urethra as it swells - it's so much. It's far too much.

And then the tentacles stop their slow slide in and start pulsing, thickening, with the same freezing cold liquid as the one down his throat. He feels his cockslit tear over the thickening tentacle in it, and he tries to scream and he can't, he fucking can’t around the tentacle.

His voice box vibrates weakly against the tentacle in his throat and he is absolutely not getting enough air. Before he can pass out, two tentacles slip past his nostrils painfully, and slide down into his lungs, pumping cold briny air in and out of him. 

The tentacle in his ass is joined by another, which seems intent on jamming itself against his prostate and nothing else. Distantly, dizzily, against the backdrop of all his other pains, he feels the pain of his asshole stretching around this intrusion. 

It's too much. Steve is pretty sure he can't even clench his fingers right now. His eyes loll towards the distant ceiling. His ass and cock are reamed by the rocking and distending motion of the tentacles. The more he involuntarily clenches, the harder they rock into him. He moans and gets another pair of slim, slippery tentacles poking at his asshole, prying at his rim until he's sobbing without sound or anything but involuntary movement around the multiple tentacles in his throat.

Across from him, Bucky is surprised to find that he's having a fairly easy time of it. He's in pain, overstimulated, and having his goddamn prostate milked with no room in his cockhole for anything to go, but Squiddy seems to find torturing Steve more interesting than him. Darkly, he thinks that maybe Squiddy is looking for a safer, stronger, incubator. Steve has certainly shown his will to fight.

Bucky watches the puffy, torn edges of Steve's rim moving out with the tentacles on their backstroke, and in with them. Watches blood dribble from Steve's cock and ass, drips of red from the split of his mouth forced too wide.

Steve feels the intimate touches build and build into what he would think was an orgasm - except there's never release. Just his swollen cock shaking and jittering with every pounding press into his prostate, his balls feeling so tense and stuffed with their own desire to come that he's certain they're going to just pop off from the pressure any second now.

Steve swims on the unending sensation, forced into ruined orgasm after ruined orgasm, unable to come with the tendril down his cock, unable to move except to shake in his own private world of enforced sensation. His eyes roll and make contact with Bucky's and he tries so hard to hold that contact and tell Bucky he's here, they're in this together, they'll figure it out -

But the tentacles massaging at his prostate wring another orgasm from him, and he shakes with it before averting his eyes. He doesn't think he can make eye contact with his best friend while getting raped by an eldritch monster. He can do a lot of things, but that's not one of them.

After a while, the freezing cold stops being injected into them. Steve is so hopeful - maybe it's done. Maybe now. 

The cold cramps will stop and that will be nice, he thinks dreamily. Unfortunately, that's when the agitation begins. Steve's breathing tubes slip out and away. The tentacles inside the two of them retreat slightly, withdrawing from lungs, stomachs, out of the bladder until they just rest in the urethra, and slightly lower down in the colon. And then they begin to thrust fast and rough, inflaming the flesh around them.

That vulnerable deep place past Steve's rectum, leading into the neck of his sigmoid: fucked raw, and worse for his pained clenching. 

His tender throat: fucked roughly, until all Steve can taste is metallic blood.

His cock - his goddamn cock - Steve has had catheters up there, he keeps telling himself. He can remember the lingering burning feeling after a catheter removal, from before the serum. This is nothing like that. Now, he just hopes that once this tentacle leaves his genitals it wont just split him open like deveining a shrimp. Now, he just hopes that he survives this. That he hasn’t brought Bucky back to the scene of his torture only to let them both die miserable, useless deaths.

His asshole feels like it's been split in two, only Bucky's calm demeanor and focused gaze is keeping him from being certain that he's going to die via bleeding out from his ass after brutal underground cephalopod sex. 

Absurdly, the crick in his neck from his position chooses now to announce itself, as his body is rocked by the motions of the creature.

The fucking goes on longer than Steve had thought possible to live from. 

He loses track of things. 

He realizes that’s he’s been sobbing and he doesn’t know for how long.

By the time he remembers to be worried about Bucky he's not even sure which direction to look for him. 

By the time they're finally released, Steve feels wrung out but somehow stuffed full. Swollen and put through the wringer. The tentacles leave their orifices and set them down face up, almost gently, in the shallow water. 

Bucky sputters out some water, slowly turning to his side and propping himself onto his elbow. Feet from him, Steve is whimpering and trying to curl into a ball on his side. He's not succeeding very well. 

Bucky’s not sure how, but he manages to stand. Feeling a sickening sort of deja vu, he grabs Steve under his arms and drags him over to the stairs, propping him up so he doesn't drown. Bucky wonders darkly if dragging Steve through water to prevent said drowning while they're both nearly dead is going to become a thing. He eyes the silent, deep pool in the middle of the room suspiciously as he gathers up what he can find in the water - Steve's shield, their boots, a couple of his knives, his rifle - 

He decides the rest can go to hell and staggers back to the stairs. 

Steve has his eyes shut and is panting through pain as he tries to sit up properly. With the sudden intensity his memories sometimes have, Bucky is abruptly reminded of his mother birthing his sisters at home. The panting breathes, the swollen stomach - he tries not to think of it.

"We got to go," he rasps out.

Steve's eyes open, pupils wide. It takes a moment for his eyes to settle on Bucky, but the moment he does he looks the way he always did after getting knocked on his ass in a fight - like come hell or high water, he was going to pull his pride together the best he can.

"Of course. You’re right, yeah.” He stumbles to his feet with a sort of jaw-clenching determination that Bucky admires, considering the blood running down his thighs. 

They manage to get out, to blow the base sky high. Maybe they don't get any intel, but Bucky officially vetoed it when Steve made a mumbled attempt to argue that they look around. 

Steve, against historic odds, didn't fight him on it.

Later, they'll find out that between the time they entered Squiddy's room and Bucky hustled their carcasses out, it had been about seven hours. Not record breaking for Bucky, but then again, he was pretty sure he’d never had the same kind of treatment from Squiddy that Steve got.

Under the cover of night, two men in nothing but boots and a very small armory sneak back into their rented room.

Steve immediately goes to curl up on his bed, cradling his stomach and not even bothering to take off his boots.

He looks so beat, so damn abused. The bruises all over him from the tentacles, the dried blood on his legs, the slimy vomit still stuck to his forehead and hair. 

Bucky really doesn't want to do this next part. There was always someone to take care of this part for him, always someone to take of the details of Squiddy as a punishment.

"Steve," he starts, not knowing how to continue. He starts gathering some clothes.

"I'm so sorry that they did that to you," Steve says, still curled up facing away from Bucky. It is a testament to Steve's utter Steve-ness that his voice is sorrowful and completely sincere as he lays huddled in pain from his own extremely rough inter-species rape.

"Jesus, Stevie," Bucky chokes out, feeling immensely fond for the dummy across the room. And also dreading what he needs to say. He takes off his boots and starts dressing.

"Look it was my goddamn fault, I knew it was - I just couldn't say it -"

"It's not your fault," Steve cuts in sternly, twisting his head to look over his shoulder and frown at Bucky.

"Yeah, okay," Bucky pacifies. He finishes dressing, sits down on the other bed and starts retying his boots, "look, I have to tell you something -"

"It's okay, Buck, it wasn't your -" Steve says softly, and it makes Bucky want to add to the bruises on his neck because he needs to shut up for a second.

"No, it's not. We're not done," Steve looks confused and also like he's going to start talking again so Bucky rushes through, "the stuff it pumped us full of isn't just like, squid sperm," he rubs his meat and blood hand over his exhausted face, "it's like some kinda - it's eggs. That's what they told me."

"What?" Steve has ponderously turned over onto his other side and is staring at Bucky.

Bucky adjusts his belt, which is digging into his swollen stomach, wincing, "they always flushed me out afterwards. I guess they let the eggs gestate in some guy once and it was - remember when we watched Alien?"

Steve's face would be fuckin' hilarious if the whole situation wasn't so awful.

"How long do we have?" Steve asks incredulously.

"I have no idea," Bucky answers honestly, "they always did it as soon as I was taken out of... there."

"How do we - "

"I'm gonna go break into a pharmacy or hospital and steal us some catheters and enema bags - and whatever the hell else I can find, " Bucky says bluntly.

-

There was a minor fight about Steve going instead, but Bucky had won by being already dressed and literally jumping out the window before Steve could stop him. His body regrets his choices immediately, but he's been through far worse and walked it off

He ends up hitting up both a pharmacy - which has the enema bag but nothing else - and an elderly care facility.

\- 

By the time they're stripped and sitting on the bathroom floor while Bucky heats water over a portable burner, Steve is sitting upright under his own power with little more than a pale, queasy expression. Bucky would make a joke about Coney Island rollercoasters - but he remembers that those got soured roughly 70 years ago for them.

"The heat isn't good for them, but the soap _kills_ them," Bucky explains as he pours liquid soap into the pot. He doesn't say: I'm not exactly sure about this recipe, I was mostly lying there with my brains dribbling out my ears while Hydra agents talked over me. That’s not the kind of thing that inspires confidence.

The first part's easy enough, they drink a quart of hot soapy water, wait around on their right sides for a bit - Steve explains that it helps the soap reach further into their organs, while Bucky had just assumed it was one of those weird rituals technicians sometimes had - and then vomit it up. Repeat. Bucky watches the familiar slimy translucent eggs slip out and plop into the toilet with a vindictive satisfaction. 

Meanwhile, Steve is a little disturbed by how many of the little dime sized things keep coming out of them. 

Without the gluey pressure of the thick eggs sitting in his stomach, Steve feels a lot better. Sure, he's got soapy bile burning the raw edges of his throat and his colon and bladder are still so stuffed he feels like he should be pissing and shitting himself right now - but overall the feeling is less lay-down-and-die and more determined-flushing-of-rape-spawn.

Bucky helps administer the soapy warm enema into an oddly pliant Steve, bent over on his knees and elbows. But they run into a bit of a problem.

"You got to hold it in, Steve," he whispers, feeling oddly like he's breaking a vow of silence as he stares down at Steve's raw, swollen hole. It keeps twitching and gaping around the nozzle.

"I'm trying," Steve grits out. His fluttering torn rim dribbles out a bit more soapy water before Bucky clamps the hose and sets the enema bag aside.

He is so glad Steve's face is pressed against the tile with his eyes squeezed shut. Bucky is pretty sure he is going to hell for the way his heart is pounding and his raw, tentacle-fucked dick is managing to get hard.

"I'm gonna - I've got this other kind, it's what they always used on me, anyway," Bucky says hesitantly.

Steve just grinds his teeth, flushing red around his bruises, "just do it."

Steve gasps when Bucky pumps the double balloon nozzle up, locking it snug in his stretched hole. 

Bucky is half hard as he fills his best friend up with a couple pints of hot water. He pinches his own glans viciously, because Steve is hyperventilating over the pain and he's not that fucking sick, okay -

"We'll have to do it a few times, like the stomach," he says, practically voiceless. He clamps the hose shut and sets the bag aside.

"Do you need help?" Steve grits out.

Bucky nearly fumbles the nozzles he was about to insert into himself, "nope," he squeaks out.

There's a long moment where Bucky is filling his own ass up, concentrating on how the soap stings on the raw insides of his chafed colon, how part of the immovable mass inside him is starting to shift, dissolving with the enema. He has to remember, Steve probably is feeling far worse. This is literally the worst time to think about how Steve's ass felt on his fingertips when he helped stuff him full of hot water -

"Thanks, Bucky," Steve says quietly. 

Straight to hell, Bucky thinks, his guts roiling with guilt and far too much content.

It takes several agonizing enemas, each one increasing in time spent waiting it to travel further in, before Bucky feels like they're probably done. He's not just grateful that he doesn't have to stand the pain anymore. Listening to Steve panting through the stomach cramps and watching him lay there looking out of it as he sweats and whimpers - fuck. Bucky needs a goddamn confessional the way not even being a goddamn assassin made him need one.

He also feels like every organ inside him is stinging and beaten like dirty rug, but he also knows they've got more to do.

He's careful to use a bit of lube he nicked from the old folks when he inserts the tube up Steve's urethra. Steve is lying on his side, giving his own dick a thousand mile stare as Bucky tries his best to be gentle and not creepy as he inserts the catheter fully, filling the balloon inside with some clean water to keep it from coming out. He connects the main tube to an unused enema bag, fills it up with more soapy water and tries to be careful with the pressure when he lifts the bag.

Bucky nearly jumps when Steve finally says something, for the first time in something like an hour.

"Good thing we've got the serum. We'd get a nasty infection if we used soapy water in our bladders like this, otherwise," Steve muses.

It's so utterly incongruous to the moment that for a second Bucky is certain that he's misheard.

"Uh, yeah," he blurts. Truthfully, Bucky's medical expertise at this point is pretty much limited to the massive amounts of damage that have happened to his serumed body over the years, or how to murder someone. Normal human biology (beyond what he needed to know to make a kill) was kind of not his strong suit.

Context filters into his brain and he lets out a gritty chuckle, "yeah, Stevie. Tha's the thing we'd be real concerned about if we didn't have serum-enhanced healin'. Not internal wounds from squid-fuckin', not traumatic injuries from that goddamn - fuckin' _bladder infections_ ,” he starts laughing for real.

After a second, Steve joins in. 

And they're two dumb kids from Brooklyn, one slipping the other a hot soapy bladder flush and trying not to get a boner. At least Steve is too glazed over to notice anything beyond his own body, or Bucky would feel a little weirder about his naked dick being so near him.

"Hey, wanna know somethin' funny?" Steve asks, actually making eye contact. He looks somehow mischievous past the gross mess encrusted over his exhausted mug.

"What?" Bucky asks, slight smile rising in return.

"First thing to ever touch me like that. Was a squid," Steve gets out through stifled peels of laughter, and Bucky feels his smile drop like a lead weight.

"Lost my virginity to a sea monster," Steve lets himself fully laugh, his laughter shaking his body and causing tremors all the way up through the catheter into the bag Bucky's holding by the edge with a suddenly white knuckled grip. He pinches his inner thigh hard with his metal hand, as surreptitiously as possible. 

Steve catches his look and rolls his eyes, "aw, c'mon, it's a little funny, Buck."

Bucky scowls. He knows that if Steve was less loopy and not running off adrenaline dregs from his pain, he'd never be sharing this - be joking about it like this. Not with how careful he always is around Bucky these days. (Bucky resolves to maybe stop joking about his own past so much, as turn about is more awkward than he'd imagined.)

It's when he's pinching his thigh and trying not to yell at Steve that he remembers something else. 

That the creature always made them orgasm while it was filling them. There was a reason - 

Bucky looks down at Steve, and Steve must pick something up in his expression.

"What? It's really not a big deal -"

"No, not that - that is a pretty big deal though, damnit, I mean - remember how it rubbed on your, uh your - in your ass, you know -” Bucky knows the word. Has said _far_ worse to Steve over the years, but for some reason he can’t choke it out right now.

"Prostate?" Steve supplies with what is a far too benign tone in Bucky's opinion. Punk.

"Yeah, I remembered something else the techs had to do after I was left with Squiddy," he says tiredly, "it does that to open up the pathway..."

"Oh," Steve winces.

-

After their bladders are flushed - and fuck if it doesn't feel worse for those eggs to come out when combined with the soapy burn - there's an awkward moment where Bucky isn't certain how to approach the next part.

Up to now, he's been the one leading the 'cleanse' so to speak. He's just not sure if this is crossing a boundary.

"So, what, I need to jack off?" Steve says, sounding weary of the thought. Bucky tries not to eye the part of Steve's slit that tore with the introduction of the eggs.

"Uh. They - I mean, I don't know if it's because it was easier or if it was more thorough, but they always kind of - " Bucky fishes for a good way to put it and finds nothing, " - prostate milking?"

Steve makes a face, "so basically, you're not certain if it's better to do it that way, but it's a safe bet."

Steve is curled up on the cold tile looking miserable.

"Do you think the little - shampoo bottle things would work?" Steve asks sadly.

Bucky isn't entirely sure where he's going with this.

"What? I mean, I guess? Fingers will probably work better.” He tries not to feel like a sick bastard with ulterior motives and mostly succeeds, since he feels sick to his stomach at the thought of violating Steve yet some more.

Steve nods grimly and reaches back behind himself, fumbling at his own loose hole.

Bucky finally gets why Steve wanted a tool, "I can - I can help..."

Steve looks relieved, and Bucky feels like a heel.

"...Really?"

"Yeah,” he grits out. 

\- 

It takes a long time of fingering Steve, who looks pale and miserable from the attention, before he even gets his first orgasm. However, the next few come surprisingly easy.

Sweaty and sick looking, the first time Bucky had managed to wring a few strands of thick come out of Steve - with a few minimal tipwards strokes from his left hand on Steve's cock - he'd been unable to help the "good boy, good job, Stevie," that had come slipping out of his mouth without his permission.

The only thing is, another string of ejaculate with an egg quivers out of his tip at the words, and Steve is resolutely staring at the ceiling, panting, afterwards.

Bucky wasn't born yesterday, so he starts up with, "come on, Steve. Just gonna need a couple more of those from you - know you can - gotta do it for me, Stevie," as he rubs gently at Steve's prostate and runs his metal hand gently over the base of Steve's cock.

He croons Steve through four more orgasms, the last two loads watery and thin but running clear and without any eggs.

When Steve offers weakly to help him through his own, Bucky brushes off the offer but, genially allows Steve to pet his hair while he fingers himself through his own rounds. The hair petting is definitely for Steve's sake. Gotta let the kid feel useful.

(Straight to hell.)

-

They're both well and truly relieved to be done. Bucky looks like he can finally breath. Bucky, who's been stronger through this than Steve could ever have imagined - Bucky, who has spent the last few months barely able to take care of himself, but who has just proven he's with it enough to take care of them both when the cards are down. Bucky is amazing.

Steve feels so grateful. He also feels sad because he's pretty sure he's got something to say that Bucky is gonna be mad about.

"We can probably go to bed now," Bucky says gently, "you don't feel any anywhere else, right?"

Steve tries not to look guilty and actually considers letting squid eggs hatch in him as an alternative to saying what he needs to.

He almost doesn't say anything, but then Bucky's expression is suddenly worried.

"Where." Bucky says, and it's not really a question.

"When I - I tried to breath when the tentacle was coming out of my stomach, and -" Steve winces and, demonstratively, gives a huge rattling cough.

"Just like old times," he adds, wryly.

"Fuck," says Bucky, looking truly panicked, "how are we gonna - what can we -" He’s jittering, eyes darting back and forth.

Steve is regretting the drama of the cough. He's pretty sure he set something off in Bucky's brain. Some early conditioning in response to Steve-rattles, maybe.

"I got an idea. I don't need too much help, just, kinda watch me for safety kinda thing," he hedges, knowing Bucky is going to hate this.

-

Turns out Steve's idea is to fill the tub with hot soapy water and try to drown himself. Bucky would be pissed if it were any more dangerous or stupid than anything else they'd done tonight. In the end, Bucky ends up helping hold Steve under so he can inhale enough water to flush it out. 

Just a little drowning between friends. 

Then, Steve sits quivering in steadily pinkening water, gagging and upchucking eggy water onto himself.

They don't actually clean themselves off when they go to bed, not really. All they really have the energy for is staggering over to their beds and ignoring the mess they've made of the bathroom, barely wedging themselves between the sheets before allowing themselves to pass out.

Steve feels empty and raw, and already so fucking guilty for having let Bucky deal with everything that night. He'd lead Bucky into a repeat of his past traumatic experiences, and then forced Bucky to take care of his useless self. He cries, quietly and mostly motionless, hating himself for acting like he has a right to cry. For being weak when Bucky needed him to be strong. For still being a burden on Bucky Barnes, even after everything.

Bucky feels like the worst kind of scum. Because yeah, he's in pain - but he feels kind of good. He managed to face a fear, and came out the other side still holding onto his mind with an iron grip. He feels victorious… But Steve had been hurt. Badly. And worse than that, Bucky had had the fucking gall to find pleasure in Steve's predicament. He'd seen his friend raped and he'd gotten hard. Worse still, the thought of Steve, pliable and allowing Bucky to touch him all over - inside and out - trusting his body to Bucky's care - it still settles something in Bucky. He knows with terrible certainty he’ll be getting off on the memory for the foreseeable future. He disgusts himself.


End file.
